


Lippy Kids

by quodpersortem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comment Fic, Escort, First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/quodpersortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://witch-breed.tumblr.com/post/31062966021/teen-wolf-au-suggested-by-anonymous-you">this</a> Tumblr post:</p><p>Derek Hale is a college student that must resort to becoming  a ‘night worker’, putting an ad in the newspaper to get clients; and Stiles Stilinski is a high school student mocked by his friends for still being a virgin. To solve his “problem”, he hires someone from the newspaper, but Derek’s ad is full of double-meanings and instead of a girl, Stiles finds himself with a hot college student in his room. And Derek doesn’t do refunds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lippy Kids

“You can’t help it!” Scott laughs at him while Stiles frowns as the girl walks away from him. They’re at a bar, he wishes he had alcohol, and his friends are joking about him again. “It’s like they can smell you’re still a virgin.”

“You are ridiculous,” Stiles huffs at Scott. “Like, I’ll bet even dogs can’t smell virginity.”

“Actually-“ Allison pops up from behind Scott and Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t want to know. Just. No. No.”

And it’s not per se that Stiles minds being a virgin, per se (even if he would like to have sex ASAP please), but he does really kind of mind the jokes Scott started after he started to see Allison.

So when he’s sitting at breakfast the next morning and leaves through the paper, in which he spots the escort ads, he doesn’t hesitate for long. He’s still hungover and figures that it might be for the best to get this over with. If he can’t hit on a girl at school, then maybe paying for some good times is his best option.

One ad in particular catches his attention:

23y/o college student, sportive tall dark with gorgeous hazel eyes. beacon hills area. own transport, willing to visit. contact: e-mail at 110788@sportsnet.com.

He immediately imagines a dark haired girl, maybe with a tan or dark skin—he doesn’t really care, as long as it’s not a terrible orange fake thing. She says she’s into sports so he supposes she must have a nice body as well. Beacon Hills and own transport are the best out of these things, because his dad would totally notice if he went somewhere tonight.

His dad isn’t home tonight, so after he quickly takes a shower and jerks off to the mental image, he sends an email to the address.

> Hello,
> 
> I saw your ad in the newspaper and I was interested. I am 16 but definitely consenting, I hope my age is not much of a problem? I can assure you I will be enthusiastic between the sheets. Or on top of them. I practice a lot so I have a lot of stamina.
> 
> I am home alone tonight, so if you have nothing better to do ;)
> 
> And how/where to do I pay?
> 
> Stiles.

It doesn’t take long before there’s a response.

> Hello, Stiles.
> 
> Age is not a problem. Tonight is good for me. Do you own the necessities or need I bring condoms myself?
> 
> You must pay in advance. As soon as the transaction has been finished, I will come over to you.

Then the money and bank account number are mentioned and the girl tells him “I’ll see you soon”. Stiles has an eyebrow raised at the clinical response but he’s quick to shrug it off—she probably just studies business or something.

He mails her back agreeing on her terms and transfers the money. For a moment he worries that maybe he’s been scammed, but he supposes that—even if he’s going to be embarrassed as hell about it—he can get his father to get it back for him. He’s got the bank account number, after all, and it seems legit. It’s only then that he realizes they haven’t talked about a time, which will mean he’s going to spend tonight worrying until the girl arrives. Hell, he doesn’t even know her _name_.

Stiles spends most of his afternoon playing video games to keep his mind off things. When it’s almost six o’clock, he realizes that he should probably do something to tidy up his room. He quickly shoves the dirty plates into the dishwasher and throws all the clothes he picks up from his floor in with the laundry.

Then he eats a microwavable meal, alone in the kitchen, but he’s starting to get nervous and even tapping his foot to the tiles doesn’t do much to relieve him. In the end, he just about manages to finish the food and he’s just up the stairs when the door bell rings.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, rubbing his hand across his hair which he has done nothing about all day. He’s still wearing jogging pants and a shirt about two sizes too large. For a moment he debates whether he should go upstairs and get changed after all, but then he decides he’s _paid_ for this so whatever.

When he walks to the front door, however, he doesn’t see a head with long, curly hair through the glass, but rather a short and spiky cut. Dark, though. A nasty feeling pools in his guts. Maybe it’s someone else, he reminds himself, it wouldn’t be that odd for someone to show up at the door at this time.

He opens the door to reveal someone who is obviously athletic, tall, dark haired, and who has nice eyes—that are currently glaring at him. It also is definitely not a woman. The guy’s chest is probably twice as wide as Stiles’, and he’s got a good inch on him in length, too.

“Are you Stiles?” the guy asks, and right then all of Stiles’ hopes to a gorgeous brunette fly right out of the window.

“Yeah,” he says, cringing a little at the shock evident in his voice. “Come on in.” The guy raises an eyebrow but steps past him anyway. Stiles closes the door behind him and they stay quiet for a while, just looking at each other. Right when Stiles thinks he can’t get any more uncomfortable, the man starts to talk.

“You expected someone else.”

“More like some _thing_ else in, like, your shirt and pants,” Stiles blurts out and he wonders what the quickest way to die would be. His mind seems to be going into overdrive though, and so he speaks again. “I mean, I thought you’d be a chick. Which you are not. Very obviously not.” He gestures at the body in front of him. “Why’d you agree with seeing me at all? I’m a dude.”

The guy shrugs. “Need the money.” He waits for a heartbeat and then adds with a sly grin, “It’s not like you seem to mind too much.”

“What!” Stiles shrieks, “What is that supposed to mean? I don’t look gay, do I? Even my dad says I don’t and he—well obviously he doesn’t know, but, _no_ I like girls and not guys.”

“So, do you want to lose virginity or should I go? Because now you’re just wasting my time.”

“If I can have my money back, you can go,” Stiles tells him, staring straight into his eyes. They really _are_ gorgeous.

“You can’t,” the guy tells him. He’s grinning again and Stiles wonders if he’s a masochist of some kind. “No refunds.”

“You should’ve mentioned that!” Stiles defends himself, “I can probably get you sued-“

“It’s not like it’s exactly legal to offer sex for money, either,” the guy steps in a little closer and Stiles is starting to feel really, really uncomfortable. “So now the question is, do you want to pay for your dick in my mouth-“ the guy licks at his lips and Stiles’ cock jumps in his pants, half-mast already, “Or for my burgers while I enjoy my evening off?”

“I- I don’t-“ Stiles stammers and he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, his erection growing in his pants, his body betraying itself. He closes his eyes and can hear himself agreeing, embarrassed, his voice a weak “okay.”

Then there’s a rush of air and the guy’s mouth talking next to his ear. He sounds surprisingly kind this time. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” Stiles shudders again when the guy withdraws.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says, glad that came out the way he intended it to and not as _well you’ve got me there, maybe I watch gay porn sometimes_.

“Derek,” Derek tells him. Then he’s smirking again, and Stiles wonders if teeth are supposed to look that sharp—and _then_ his mind trails off to all the indecent things that mouth might do- Derek snaps him out of his thoughts by asking, “where is your bedroom?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and leads Derek up the stairs, his legs trembling and hands sweaty. He tries to wipe his palms off his pants as inconspicuously as he can but he can’t help feeling like Derek’s eyes are burning holes into his _souls_ or something. He’s probably judging Stiles like crazy right now.

Instead of saying anything though, Derek pushes him up against the door as soon as it’s closed. He’s whispering something and Stiles thinks it might be “Can I kiss you?” but he doesn’t really hear it because he’s too busy staring at Derek. He’s _hot_ , alright, even if he’s a little creepy. So he nods in response and then Derek’s kissing him.

It’s nothing like he’d expected his first kiss to be. Of course, he’d thought it would be with a girl and this definitely isn’t a kiss he’d associate with a girl. There’s no softness at all. It’s harsh and there are teeth and Derek’s tongue is pushing against his’ frantically—almost like he wants this as much as Stiles wants sex—and the smell of cologne just about finishes the whole muscle-man experience. Stiles spreads his legs a little, and his hands are pushing at Derek’s jacket, trying to get it off his body, even if he’s still not entirely sure if this is a great idea. Then Derek’s leg—a firm thigh that’s more muscular than anything else Stiles has ever touched—is pushed against his crotch and it’s _so_ perfect for rutting against and that’s the moment he decides that yes, _yes_ , it’s probably a _great_ idea after all.

And while Stiles is pretty sure he won’t be able to think straight ever again because his brain feels like it’s going to melt out in pleasure, at least Derek seems to know what he’s doing. He shrugs off his jacket and then pries Stiles away from the door, after which he leads him to the bed. Stiles lets himself fall back and Derek crawls down across him.

“A single bed,” he states, “Nice.” Then he’s kissing Stiles again, and shit, there are hands under his shirts and Stiles squirms because his sides are _ticklish_ , okay?

“You probably don’t want to take off my shirt,” Stiles says in between kisses, “I’m not good looking. Like. I’m nowhere near as muscled as you.”

“I don’t care,” Derek grunts into his neck and Stiles doesn’t really realize Derek’s, like, _really_ into this until then. It makes Stiles slow down a little and Derek looks up, a little confused.

“You like this,” Stiles says in amazement, “you think I’m attractive?”

Derek just rolls his eyes at that and then he pushes his hips against Stiles’. And fuck, yeah, there’s no reason to worry because that’s Derek, rock-hard against Stiles’ hip. He grips at Derek’s shoulders and pushes up his hips, urging him on.

“Hold on,” Derek says after a couple of minutes, and Stiles looks up at him, still feeling dazed. “Let’s lose the clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says and then he whines when Derek gets up. He watches as the man strips out of his shirt—and shit, he’d thought Derek’s body was fantastic before but this is just ridiculous—and then casually kicks off his shoes before dropping his pants and underwear at once.

Stiles’ jaw drops at the sight of Derek’s cock and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He’s hung like a fucking _horse_ , or something, and his length stands upright, almost leaning against his stomach, red and drooling precome. Then Stiles is scrambling to get out of his own clothes, his shame overpowered with sheer fucking _want_.

Derek is on him the moment he’s kicked off his jeans and holy hell, their cocks are sliding together so Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist so he can keep rolling his hips _just like that_. They’re kissing again, too, and sometimes Derek wanders away from Stiles’ mouth to nip at his jawline or bite at his neck. Stiles shudders each time he can feel the sharp pang of pain, but he definitely isn’t about to start complaining.

He’s edging closer and closer to the climax, his body tensing a little more with each of Derek’s thrusts. Then Derek asks, “Do you still want that blowjob?” and Stiles wants to say _yes_ , he does, but all that comes out is a long moan and then he’s coming, spilling between their stomachs while Derek kisses him through it, still gyrating his hips against Stiles’.

Eventually Derek stops moving against Stiles, and Stiles thinks that might have been because he started to whine because his body is so damn _sensitive_ right now, and instead he pushes himself up a little and uses one hand to quickly bring himself off with a couple of short strokes. Stiles watches Derek as he comes across Stiles’ stomach, adding to the mess that’s starting to drip down his sides and onto the bed. Then he flops down next to Stiles.

“Can you hand me the tissues?” Stiles asks, afraid that the mass will come running off him if he even moves a little. Derek nods and grabs a handful of paper and starts to wipe Stiles’ stomach clean. The smell of semen hangs heavy in the air and it only makes Stiles want to kiss Derek again—which he doesn’t, because he isn’t sure what the protocol is.

He does watch while Derek swipes himself clean, and gets dressed, quickly and efficiently. Then he turns back to Stiles, who’s still laying on his bed, enjoying the after-bliss.

Derek bends down and presses a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles tries to kiss him back, bite his lips, but Derek moves away from him and grins as he shakes ‘no’.

Then he’s left Stiles alone in his room, and Stiles isn’t sure if this means he’s officially still a virgin or not. He’s still wondering when he heads for the shower, and later, when he walks downstairs to get something to drink.

That’s when he notices it—a note on the kitchen table, with a phone number and the text, “Call me. I won’t charge you next time.”

 _Well_ , Stiles smiles to himself, _if_ he’s still a virgin he probably won’t be for much longer.


End file.
